


The Shower

by yesterday2111



Category: Hercai (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Married Sex, Shower Sex, soft!Miran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday2111/pseuds/yesterday2111
Summary: A slight AU about the events at the beginning of episode 32-- I always thought Elif's attempt would trigger some memories for Reyyan about her own, and I think she and Miran should really discuss it more than they have. Also, the bath was a great opportunity for Reyyan and Miran to get closer, wink wink!
Relationships: Reyyan Aslanbey/Miran Aslanbey
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Implied suicide attempts.

For everything that she had experienced, Reyyan thought she should be more used to this by now. But there, watching Elif teetering and screaming on the balcony, Reyyan had felt absolute helplessness and the kind of dread that anchored her feet to the floor and choked her.

Even hours later, the devastation, grief, and desperation painted so grotesquely on Elif’s face haunted her. The wedding dress plagued her, the near fall off the balcony replaying itself in her mind. Thank Allah, Azat had caught her. The young woman deserved a long, happy, comfortable life. Reyyan would never forget the kindness she showed her in those early days at the Aslanbey konak.

Everything was fine, everyone was safe, everything was improving. Reyyan tried to convince herself. But when she had seen Elif ready to fall something very dark had sparked inside her and she was yet to shake it off. It spread like ice until every hair was standing up and she just wanted to curl into a ball to warm herself. It was a coldness Reyyan had never addressed and had never wanted to. She had successfully pushed it away for months but now it wouldn’t leave her mind. 

_Was that what she had looked like?_

When she had picked herself up at the hut, stepped back into her wedding dress, and sat down to burn alive with it. 

When she launched herself off a bridge to drown rather than be forced into a life somebody else had chosen for her. 

When, kneeling, she practically begged her grandfather to end it. 

When she had burst into Miran’s office, bloodied and furious, yelling at him to shoot already. 

Did she look like that? Small and hurt and hysterical?

Barely moments after one horror had passed before she and Miran had to endure another and another. They’d been through so much in such a short time that she had barely considered the seismic implications of what she had tried to do to herself.

The thought was too enormous, to weighty to be able to address it in passing, even to herself. Preferring to keep it in the past, wanting to be able to chalk it up to the whims of a heartbroken and naive child rather than admitting that she needed healing, she ignored every reminder that it had ever happened. 

Miran didn’t bring it up either. She wondered if he too tried to forget, or if he just didn’t know how.

She felt her body trembling uncontrollably. Curled up in her childhood bedroom, she felt the strength sapped out of her as if she had run through every street in Midyat. 

Allah, she wanted Miran. She really wanted Miran. She needed him with her, and she knew he would come if she asked, but she didn’t have the strength to get up and call, couldn’t get the image of the empty chair beside her or the sound of his threats out of her mind. 

When her father came in to talk to her she had defeat in her voice, and by the way he stroked her hair for just a little longer she knew he noticed. 

Reyyan was tired, so tired, but she wouldn’t sleep. It would be a long night alone in bed just as she had gotten used to sharing with another. So when her father returned to admit that he and Miran were working together, she felt like the life had entered her again. 

Seeing Miran waiting for her in the courtyard, Reyyan felt her lips unfurl in a true, honest smile for the first time since the events of that evening. _He’s here. He came for me. He and my father are working together. We have a chance._

She needed to feel safe and grounded in her husband’s arms, and used the very last of her strength to run on wobbly legs and launch herself at him, holding on tight with her arms around his neck. She needed to make sure he was real. Reyyan knew she looked childish—definitely not like an adult married woman— but couldn’t bring herself to care. 

If Miran’s strong hands around her waist were any indication, he felt the same. They were each other’s home, they couldn’t do without the other. 

The drive back to the hotel was silent but comfortable. She forced herself to focus on their togetherness rather than the thoughts creeping at the back of her mind.

…

As they settled in to the familiar room, Miran’s energy returned. “Are you hungry? Should I order something to eat?”

“No, I don’t want anything. I’m a little tired though.” Reyyan settled on the bed facing him. 

“Your cheeks are flushed.” He grinned mischievously with a certain spark in his eye, and if she had been red before she now burned under his gaze. “What happened, are you excited for me?”

Her fatigue and need for his presence made hiding it impossible, so she just played along, only half-joking. “Yes, Miran, I’m excited because you’re here.”

His hand reached out to caress her cheek and she leaned into it eagerly, wanting to feel close to him. His teasing features immediately molded into concern and he moved his hand to rest on her forehead. “You have a fever.”

Oh. Well, that explained a lot. “Oh, I must have caught something…” 

She didn’t want to go to the hospital, she just wanted to sleep. Maybe she needed to reset the night, to forget about the memories awakening in the corner of her mind. Miran was coddling her, tucking her in, and where she once would have felt embarrassment she now appreciated his softness next to her and his protectiveness. 

She would think about everything tomorrow. Tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to be with her husband. Feeling his warmth beside her, she slipped into sleep. 

… 

_Reyyan was burning. Alone, left in the darkness, flames licked up and down her legs. She didn’t look down, but knew that her wedding dress was already scorched black at the sleeves, the train, the neckline. The smoke was choking, painting her mouth and throat with thick soot that tasted like fear and giving up. She didn’t even try to cough to try to clean her lungs out, didn’t attempt to twist her body to evade the heat. She knew this was where she needed to be._

_The dress wasn’t fastened in the back so it hung off one shoulder, and the shadows used the space to whisper hatred into her ear. They murmured about her sins, her lovelessness, her abandonment, the shame she brought to herself and everyone around her. They told her to let go._

_She closed her eyes and let go._

_The flames spoke of her death, and the smoke swirled up her nose and around her arms. She waited for the fairytale to crumble around her and envelop her, to bury her, for the fire to take her hands and lead her away— she felt herself leaning, falling, crumpling and then the flames were gone and were replaced by a white office. She was staring down the barrels of three guns, her father, Miran, and Nasuh holding them in her face with stony, unyielding faces. There was nothing left for her with them, nothing to go back to, and nothing for her to say._

_Nasuh turned his back to her and walked away, not glancing over his shoulder or any hesitation in his step. Her father followed, and Miran behind him. Their forms disappeared into the white._

_They didn’t want her…_

_She felt herself on her knees, felt the chill of staring down the guns, was leaning, falling, crumbling, and then she was in free-fall, eyes wandering into a blue idyllic sky. The bridge moving farther and farther away from her as if in slow motion. She reached her hands out to feel the woosh of air alongside her body. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could pretend she was floating, not falling, that she was about to land on a mattress of feathers, not the icy river below, that she was Gul’s balloon or a white dove flying to safety. But then she opened and saw the rocky, raging river inching closer and closer and closer and she was ready to be encased in ice, shattered like glass, swept away like she had never existed…_

“Hayir!” 


	2. Dressed

_“Hayir!”_

Miran woke from the cry and the feeling of a desperate tug on his thumb. He turned, bleary-eyed, to glance at Reyyan nestled next to him. Sweat mixed with tears ran down the side of her flushed face, and her forehead was scrunched in the midst of some invisible, intense pain. Immediately alert, Miran leaped to his knees and cradled her face, checking her forehead with the back of one hand. Her fever was high, scarily high. He debated whether he should call a doctor.

“Reyyan!” He gently patted her cheeks with the palm of his hand, trying to keep the fear out of his voice and failing miserably. “Hadi, canim, wake up.” She shook her head but her eyes didn’t open, and if anything her breathing became more erratic, more pained, sobbing tearlessly in her sleep. He flung the covers off, trying to get her temperature down, trying to hold her in place so she wouldn’t hurt herself. 

“No, please, no,” She cried out, still in the midst of some nightmare. Out of ideas, Miran hoisted her into his arms and nearly ran towards the tub. “Stubborn, Reyyan, you’re just stubborn.” He muttered, trying to hide his fear under a mask of exasperation. “I told you we should have gone to the hospital.” 

He turned the knob to lukewarm water and sprayed her indiscriminately. She tried to squirm away from the sudden blast as her eyes fluttered open, bleary, confused, and fearful. Miran felt his breath whoosh out of his lungs in relief. 

“Reyyan, iyi misin?” His face was so close to hers he could feel her breath on his lips. She was shivering, but awake. 

“I’m cold,” she whimpered but offered no more details. Her eyes darted around the room, refusing to focus on him, as if she expected some great evil to jump out of a corner and ambush her, as if the hotel room around them was going to disappear. All he could do was hold her close to him and try to warm her up with his body until she stopped shaking. 

By that time, Miran’s legs were cramping from kneeling in the tub, but he was glad to see that Reyyan’s breath had evened out. Once he was confident she could stand, Miran lifted her trembling figure out of the tub and gently on her feet. 

Noticing that she was still in no state to do anything further, he made a decision he was only 40% sure would not backfire on him. 

With slow, reassuring hands, he unzipped her soaked dress from the back and slowly tugged it down her arms, making sure to look only at her eyes. The last thing he wanted now was to add to her discomfort. Blank faced, she raised her arms to help him and stepped robotically out of the dress once it hit the floor.

… 

Normally, having Miran in front of her while she was undressed would definitely have given Reyyan heart palpitations and maybe a nervous breakdown. But even her normal shyness was overshadowed by the massive relief at the gentle love she felt through his fingers. She let him undress her gently, silently, methodologically, staring into his eyes the whole time as he stripped her down completely and she was bare in front of him.

The hunger and need she usually felt emanating from his every glance was gone, replaced by a deep care and love. Other than a comforting press of his lips to the crown of her head, he didn’t kiss and his hands didn’t linger. He just helped her slide on a new pair of underwear and soft warm pajama pants. His fingers steadily went button by button to close up the front of her pajama shirt. He helped her sit on the edge of the bed and then stripped and changed out of his own wet clothes, not bothering to hide himself or try to show off. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. 

The vestiges of her dream lingered on her mind, but she managed to push them away for later. She was so… comfortable. Tired, exhausted, sad, still shaking, but comfortable, like someone had set her into a warm bath with her favorite cup of tea. 

This was a new form of intimacy she’d never considered. When she thought of intimate moments she brought to mind only the things her mother explained to her in whispers the day before the wedding that made her blush, Miran’s wolfish smile, the physical closeness of their night at the hut, how he had grunted into her hair and held her hand.

But this was intimate too. And it was new and wonderful, sweet and loving. 

For Miran to dress her, putting aside his desire to take care of her when she was at her most vulnerable, to show himself without expecting anything in return… she felt exposed, but not uncomfortably so. The barriers between them were shattered and they had stood for the first as the two barest forms of themselves. 

Changed into dry clothes, Miran helped Reyyan under the covers and stroked her drying hair. She slept almost instantly. The next morning, when the fever was gone and her smile returned, he would attribute her panic to the illness, take care of her as best he could, and forget about it.

... 

The next night, Reyyan woke up from another nightmare. Arms flailing, gasping for air that didn’t seem to come. Jerked out of sleep once again, Miran wrapped himself around her to calm her down, lost as to what he could do for her. 

She sobbed into Miran’s shirt but cried out like she was still searching for him. “ _Miran_.” Her fingers dug into his chest next to where her tears soaked the fabric, and her entire body heaved in tandem with each cry. The back of his hand sought her forehead, checking for fever, but there was none. He wasn’t sure whether that fact was a relief or a cause for worry. 

“I’m here, calm down, I’m here,” he murmured to her. Normally he would have reveled in the fact that she was reaching out for his comfort, but he couldn’t muster any self-congratulation.

Instead, panic rose in him exponentially. He hadn’t seen her this inconsolable in a long time— the last time she was in a similar condition she’d run away from him in a terrified rage. “It’s over, I’m here, my love.”

She had relaxed after the bathtub last night, so Miran’s sleep-addled brain made a split-second decision. He hoisted her into his arms and walked her to the shower. This time he had the foresight to undress the two of them before entering the shower, leaving them both in their undergarments under the stream of water. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms lightly, until her breathing evened out and she looked up at him with clear eyes. 

“Canim?” His voice was soft. “Iyi misin? Ne oldu? What’s going on?” 

The water dripped through Reyyan’s hair into her face and streaked down her cheeks and chest. The softness of her skin was on his for the first time in what felt like years— Miran’s brain went on caveman overdrive. But he focused on the water dripping down their bodies, on her breath and his, on how the shower seemed to be clearing away her nightmare and the things left unspoken and undone between them. This wasn’t the moment to lose control. 

“I don’t know,” She said. “Just a nightmare, Miran.” Her voice was steady, but when she wrapped around him in a hug, the tightness of her arms hinted at something else.

“Tamam,” He murmured into her hair, knowing that he shouldn’t push. “It’s over.” 

Though she was of clearer mind this time, she still let him help her change, and when they were both dry she pressed a thankful kiss on the corner of his mouth without a thought. There was something so simple and ordinary about helping her step into pajamas, feeling her skin with no ulterior motives— simple, but momentous and loving. Miran found himself overwhelmed by an unnamed emotion that sprung tears into his eyes when she sighed and looked into his eyes with complete trust. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, but her knees soon buckled and he maneuvered them both to bed.

Under the covers, Miran pulled her up to rest most of her body on his, forehead tucked in her favorite spot where his neck and shoulder met. She was still shaking, but he saw her eyelids droop; she was fighting a losing battle against her body’s fatigue. He stroked her hair and whispered tiny comforts into the silence even after she drifted off.

What was going on? Allah knew she was entitled to a breakdown. The number of things she had been through in just a few months were enough to topple the most well-adjusted person, and she had held it together for so long that a crash became a “when,” not an “if.” But he couldn’t figure out what had triggered it, couldn’t sense which drop caused her cup to overflow. 

For a moment a wave of inadequacy washed over him. What kind of husband was he? With one look Reyyan could always diagnose any of his emotional ailments. He needed to be able to help her in the same way. This wasn’t just a fever dream— something happened to make her shake like this, to make her reach out to him like this. Reyyan was honest— he knew she would tell him if something new happened in the short time they were apart. It had to be something from the past returning to haunt her. 

Lying awake all night, Miran held his wife close, unable to calm himself to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, comments are always deeply appreciated.


	3. Yoksa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time because I wasn't really sure what to do with it, apologies! TW: Mention of suicide attempts/thoughts. 
> 
> Comments always welcome and appreciated:) Enjoy, and I hope you all are well during this time.

Reyyan refused to speak about the nightmares, but they became harder to avoid. Over the next couple of days, the routine continued. Reyyan’s panic would spike in the deep night, and Miran would bring them both under the water, clinging to her in the shower just as hard as she clung to him. And every night, like clockwork, he would strip them both and help her into new clothes, rubbing her bare shoulders with as much comfort as he could convey. Careful not to push, but with rising anxiety. 

Reyyan returned to consciousness on the fourth morning like dripping honey; heavy and slow. A large hand stroked her curls methodologically, rough fingertips trailing over the curve of her cheekbone. 

“Gunaydin,” she murmured. Miran didn’t answer right away, and she tilted her head to look at his face. 

There was no returned ‘good morning.'“Reyyan, look, I’m getting scared. Tell me what’s wrong, _lütfen_.” The fear in his eyes pierced her with guilt, and she had to look away, knowing she would unravel.

“I…” Reyyan wanted to tell him, she really _really_ did. She wanted to unload the burden that weighed her down, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the words caught in her throat. She could just foresee the pain on his face, could predict how he would pull himself away from her out of guilt, how he would treat her like a porcelain doll prone to shattering. She didn’t want that, Reyyan reasoned, and it wasn’t that important, anyway. So she had a few nightmares, so what? 

“Miran, I’m fine, I just got a little overwhelmed with everything that’s been happening.” Reyyan rubbed his beard with her thumb in the way she knew calmed him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m a bit hungry, though, are you?” She turned to check her phone so she wouldn’t give herself away. She was absolutely _not_ hungry but knowing Miran, the chance to feed her would distract from anything else.

She knew he didn’t accept her explanation, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw how he examined her before relenting. “Tamam. I’ll go grab something from the market, you relax here, sleep a bit more, maybe?”

Reyyan was about to agree when she was suddenly struck with a pang of panic that he would leave her alone; she knew the silence of the hotel would bring back the thoughts and memories from before. She clutched Miran’s arm with a strength fueled by some instinct that refused to let him walk away, even knowing he would return. 

“Wait, let me change quickly and I’ll come with you.” Before he could protest she was already up and rooting through her bag. 

Miran gave her a strange, somewhat pleased look. His wife wasn’t clingy by any standard, but he liked to feel depended upon, needed to feel of use to her, wanted Reyyan to _want_ to be near him.

The bashfulness that would usually accompany such a want failed to rush over her, and she surrendered almost completely. _Almost_. If her fears overtook her all the way she would still be burrowed in his shoulder under the covers. Despite the clear appeal of _that_ idea, she needed to pull herself together. So, leaving the words unspoken and so heavy between them, she tried to do just that.

At the market, surrounded by colors and loud voices, and the spicy smells of home-cooked food, the trying became easier. She and Miran split up to make the shopping more efficient, and she found herself enjoying the normalcy with which she could wander in the crowd unnoticed and unburdened.

…

Slightly less unnoticeable, Miran held in a groan of barely leashed aggravation seeing Azat Sadoglu in the shop next to him and then failed to contain a curse when the cousin in question saw him and made a beeline.

“Miran Aslanbey!” The sort-of greeting wasn’t entirely hostile, which, admittedly, was progress for them. 

“How’s Elif?” Miran didn’t see a point in small talk, knowing that the longer their conversation lasted, the higher the chance that the taller man would leave with a bloody nose. 

“Feeling much better. We talked a bit, and I’m heading back there now with some food.” Thankfully, Azat seemed to think the same. “Actually, I wanted to ask Reyyan to come over to the konak today.”

“Why?” Miran snapped. On a good day, he had no energy for Azat’s bumbling but his combined concern for his wife and cousin made the man utterly unbearable.

Azat furrowed his brow. “To speak to Elif, Miran.”

“You call yourself her husband, you do it! Or better yet, let me, I know her best—“ Miran’s irritation was reaching a peak.

“Bak, Miran. She needs Reyyan, if Reyyan is willing to talk to her.” Azat’s tone was similar to one he would use on a child. “Out of everyone she can understand Elif best.”

“What—“ Miran was about to object again when the terrible, heart-aching realization struck him. The understanding that Azat was talking about… _Allah,_ how did this oaf make the connection first, and not him? The nightmares, the way she’d clung to him, her embarrassment… “I need to go.”

“Miran—“ 

“I’ll be there to visit Elif soon, Sadoglu,” Miran called over his shoulder, nearing a run. 

When he caught up with Reyyan he grabbed her hand as assertively as he could while careful not to scare her, ignoring the surprised ‘ _Miran!’_ as he hauled her away from the market and back to the hotel room. 

In the room, Reyyan sat down on the bed with a huff and crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation. Her red skirt brought out the pink in her cheeks, caused partly by her annoyance and partly from trying to keep up with Miran’s long strides as he pulled her from the store. 

He didn’t give her a chance to ask again. “I saw your Azat abi at the market.”

Fear flooded her face. “Miran, what happened? Is Elif okay? Is Azat okay?” Any other time and they would have had words about the lack of “brother” in that sentence but he was too concerned at this point to care.

“Reyyan, I’ll ask you something. Please tell me the truth, canim.” He reached over and squeezed her hands in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, but her face tightened with panic and confusion. Miran plowed ahead anyway. 

“The past few days… it’s because of what Elif tried to do, right?” He knew he had touched a nerve when her lips tightened. This time, he wouldn’t let her avoid it. Her doe eyes searched his face, but he wouldn’t budge.

“I—“ The frustration broke. 

“Tell me, _please_.”

The pressure was too much, and Reyyan’s dam broke. The words poured out and wouldn’t stop, tripping over each other and confusing her thoughts. “Miran— I was so heartbroken. And everywhere I looked, there was no good way out for me. I knew Dede would kill me, or forcibly marry me off to some old man, and my father and mother would suspect me, they would still wonder if I did something wrong or sinful. And I was raised differently than you, Miran. I was raised knowing that my only value to my family was my ‘honor.’ And suddenly, I didn’t even have that.” Reyyan took a deep breath. “In that moment, between being forced into a life that I didn’t want by people who would look down on me… I would have rather died.” 

Miran swallowed hard. He knew all of this all along, somewhere in the back of his head, but to hear it so strangled from her lips threatened to tear his heart out. He forced his voice to remain steady, but his wife was perceptive and by the look she gave him, Reyyan noticed the torment in his voice. He didn’t want her to stop just for his sake, so he tried to prompt her through the lump in his throat. “And… the bridge?”

She sighed. “…By that point, I thought my life was already over. My purity was ‘dirtied’ by the fake marriage, my grandfather had already beat me up and put a gun to my head and tried to sell me to some random man… and I didn’t want to leave with Azat.” A flaming flush spread over her face, some kind of wretched combination of shame, anger, and embarrassment at her sudden openness. Not able to look at Miran in the eyes anymore, she dropped her gaze to her own hands, clutched in her lap and picking at each other.

“I felt very hopeless.” She whispered. “And very alone.”

The flood of shame washing over Miran would not allow him to touch her but he willed her to come to him. “It was so long ago though. It’s silly, right?” She laughed quietly and shook her head at herself.

“Wrong.” Miran’s voice was so soft it brought a new batch of tears to her eyes. “It’s not silly, Reyyan. I’m so… sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.” He had apologized before, but it would never be enough, even if she forgave him wholeheartedly. He would never be able to take away what he had put her through— like a broken record of a tired song the only thing he could do was apologize. 

He needed to ask her something, but the words got stuck in his throat. He cleared it, trying to ignore the shard of fear that pierced him in anticipation of the answer. Unable to bear the pain on her face, he focused on her hands, twisting nervously in her lap. “Reyyan, birtanem, you don’t… are you… do you ever still feel that way?”

There was a pause, and he jerked his head to look at her. Her soft brown eyes were examining him, brows furrowed slightly. “No,” She said finally. 

“Bak, Reyyan, do not hide something like that from me,” His voice was rising against his will. “Don’t dare lie about—“

“Miran, I promise, I don’t.” As always, one touch from her was enough to calm him completely. His shoulder tingled from the proximity. “Just like you, I’ve changed. I’m not the same naive girl. I understand now about why it happened, and that it wasn’t my fault. The memories are hard, yes, but I don’t… think like that anymore, really.”

“Do you promise, that if you think things like that you’ll come to talk to me? Or,” he waved his hand in emphasis. “your father or mother, or Firat, hell, Reyyan, even _Azat_. But you need to tell.” 

She nodded jerkily. A small part of her wondered if things would be different between them now, if he would pity her or treat her like glass rather than a partner.

“I told you once, Reyyan yoksa, Miran yok.” His voice was grated but gentle. Her brows furrowed. “That will always be true, but not only in matters of life or death. In everything. If Reyyan is laughin, then Miran is laughin. If Reyyan is thirsty, Miran is too. If Reyyan cries, Miran cries. I am always here, with you, always. Don’t hide from me things that I feel along with you. Together, we can solve them. Together, we can ease them. But you have to trust me.”

“I do, Miran,” there were no doubts, no hesitations. Reyyan’s hands found Miran’s, melted into them. “I trust you more than anything. And I love you. Miran yoksa, Reyyan yok.”

“Ben de seni seviyorum, Reyyan.” He pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to her temple. They sat like that for a long moment, feeling the ease and equilibrium set over them again. 

When he felt Reyyan’s tension fade, Miran tilted his head to look at her. “Now, I think it’s long overdue that my wife and I have a day to ourselves. What do you think?”

… 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable, married lull, no heavy conversations or emotions, simply relaxed and together. He was the same Miran he always was, cheeky and at ease. However, every once in a while, Reyyan would feel his gaze on her, not concerned but as if he was evaluating what to say. She thought it would irritate her, but he just made her feel warm with his care, comfortable enough to snuggle under his arm in the hotel restaurant, safe enough to give him a peck on the cheek when he brought their coffee. 

Their conversation and his reaction had eased her greatly, enough to admit that she wasn’t ready to speak to Elif but that she would be soon. Unlike the excruciating slowness of the past few days, the evening flew by and Miran made the executive decision to stay in the hotel one more night, just in case. 

Miran handed her a towel and some pajamas, and she felt a rush of appreciation for the patience and understanding her insatiable husband was displaying. 

She turned in the direction of the bathroom with the soft fabric in her arms but stopped in her tracks. The closeness and intimacy she had felt with Miran over the past few days… she wanted to feel it again. And she wanted to be fully cognizant and present for it. Not in the midst of a nightmare. Not feverish. Just the two of them, together. 

So she turned, and with confidence she didn’t fully feel she held out her hand to him. An invitation. 

“You come too?”


	4. Showering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Comments are so, so appreciated :)

With a confidence Reyyan didn’t fully feel she held out her hand to him. 

An invitation. 

“You come too?”

It was exceedingly clear what she meant. Miran’s eyes opened comically wide. “Ne?” 

Reyyan suddenly felt bold, strong enough to tease. “Well, if you don’t want to.” She took a few steps as if she was going alone. 

It had the intended effect. Miran tripped over his own feet trying to reach her. “I mean yes! Yes.” The eagerness on his face made her suppress a smile, and she saw right through his attempts to compose himself. “I mean, if that’s what _you_ want.” 

The comment was said coolly but he meant it, and Reyyan knew he was leaving it up to her completely. Before she could chicken out she took his hand and led him to the bathroom, him trailing after her like an excited puppy. 

Not a second had passed before her husband was already taking off his coat jacket and untying his shoes. His enthusiasm managed to be both adorable and daunting— not that she would ever tell him that. “Let’s shower.” He grinned. _Not anything further_ , was the implication. The indication that Miran knew exactly what the boundaries were relaxed Reyyan’s last bit of tension.

They were bare in front of each other. Though it wasn’t the first time, a strange warmth spread up her navel and colored her cheeks red as she stared into his eyes. They seemed to be melted honey dripping onto her. There was something about the confidence of Miran’s exposed, chiseled body that made her feel dwarfed, made her feel tiny. Reyyan suddenly felt very out of her depth. She had started something she wasn’t sure how to finish.

Miran, clearly, did not feel anything of the sort. As always assertive when it came to his physicality, the swagger came off of him in waves. He knew exactly what effect he had on Reyyan, and would make the most of it. He reached past her to turn on the water, and the stream hit them both all at once. He left his arm leaning on the wall, placing weight on it so that Reyyan had nowhere to move. She couldn’t help but shiver, watching as small drops dripped through his eyelashes, making them seem even longer. She tried and failed to concentrate on the familiarity of his face rather than the position he had maneuvered them into. With his arm reaching strategically to lean on the wall like that, her nose almost met with his broad chest. It made her feel faint.

Miran took some soap in his hand and lathered it unhurriedly between his fingers. With soapy hands, Miran trailed his hands up and down her arms, spread the bubbles over her shoulders, trapping her torso in between his arms to reach her back. The first touch of his hands on her body made her quake. Her skin was so soft he could lose himself in it, but he made sure not to cross any boundaries. 

To his surprise, she followed suit, lathering her hands and skimming her fingers across his broad shoulders. She seemed concentrated. He held his breath, not wanting to break the moment, but there was a look in her eyes…

Stepping on her tip-toes, Reyyan reached and kissed a droplet off of Miran’s nose. It broke his restraint, and hers. He attacked her mouth with a feverish kiss, which was reciprocated after a moment of surprise. 

He crowded Reyyan until her back rested on the wall, and wrapped one of her legs around his waist, leaned into her shoulder. He settled at her entrance, arms straining, and gave her one last look of askance. 

Reyyan’s only answer was a feverish kiss, and it was all the answer he needed.

As he bottomed out so slowly, he pressed soft, needy kisses across her collarbones, her breasts, her neck, her jawline. Reyyan leaned her head on his chest for a moment, dizzy with the sensation of her husband filling her, the water streaming over them, his lips all over her all at once. 

“I love you…” He groaned into her ear as he started to move. “If you don’t exist, I don’t either.” 

“I love you…” she moaned. None of the anxiety she had expected hit her in the least. Holding on to Miran’s shoulders, she knew he would never let her fall again, so she surrendered. 

The water washed away the past as they rewrote it. 

… 

Collapsing on the bed, Reyyan struggled to control her breath, rolling over to settle into Miran’s shoulder. They were both sticky, sweaty, and so delirious, hair dripping all over the sheets from their short-lived wash.

“I think I need another shower,” Reyyan quipped, drumming her fingers happily over Miran’s chest. The growl that escaped him sent a shiver down her spine, and before she knew it he had hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She beat at his back playfully, squealing. 

“Your wish is my command, wife,” He called up to her. 

She had a feeling this would be the second of many, many showers they would need that weekend, but if they were all like _that…_ well, she couldn’t really complain. 

….

_5 years later_

The shower became their routine. Sometimes it was accompanied by feverish, needy kisses. Other times by comforting caresses. Yet others by giggling. 

When they emerged clean and sleepy, Miran would hold out his hand and she would wordlessly pass him her hairbrush and sit in front of him on the bed. Slowly, he pulled the brush through Reyyan’s damp curls, teasing out the tangles with the gentleness of handling fine china. This was when they had their most intimate conversations, the quietest, sweetest moments of the day. Any argument here was resolved, any grievance aired, any appreciation showed.

This night, they were quieter than usual, going through the sweet motions of their routine in silent tranquility. 

Though she ran her hands through Miran’s hair to shampoo it, Reyyan kept an ear out for any noise from the bedroom, distracting her slightly.

Miran grabbed the detachable shower head and helped her wash the soap off her shoulders and chest, before handing it to her. Standing on her tippy-toes, she cleaned the suds out of his hair, and he blinked to keep it out of his eyes. _Ugh, her husband was too adorable._ She couldn’t help herself and pressed a wet kiss to the edge of his lips. 

“Mmm, karicim,” he rumbled softly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

_“Miran…”_ She hushed him. “Keep your voice down or I will _end you_.”

He gathered her in his arm and latched kisses to her neck and collarbones, raking his teeth across them in the way he knew unraveled her. A pang of satisfaction filled him when her eyes fluttered shut as he had expected. “I think I would enjoy you ending me, Reyyan’im.”

Still not completely overpowered, Reyyan still managed to protest with her eyes closed and hands tangled in his hair. “It took me almost two hours to get her to sleep, Miran, _don’t wake her up, lütfen_.”

He barely heard her. “Tamam, tamam…” The low timbre of his voice washed over her and she felt her knees go weak, meeting his lips in a fiery embrace under the constant stream of water. Hooking her leg over his waist, he leaned into her, crowding her against the wall and their breaths mingled—

“ _Annem_!!!!” The cry for mom shot through the house and brought Reyyan and Miran to a standstill. “Annem!” 

Miran couldn’t help but let out a snort, leaning his head on her as his shoulders shook in mirth. Reyyan was not quite as amused. “Of Miran! It’s going to be another two hours and million fairytales now, and she’s going to be grumpy tomorrow!” She beat on his back lightly when he didn’t unwrap himself from her body. “Hadi, Miran, let me go put our daughter back to bed.” She couldn’t help but grin at his infectious joy. 

When they finally untangled and dressed quickly, Günes had already come looking for them. Four years old, with her father’s wicked smile and twinkling eyes, she wanted to see what was taking so long. “Read me a fairytale, Anne?” Reyyan lifted the toddler into her arms and kissed her temple. 

“Anne _and_ Baba will tell you one, how about that?” Miran smoothed the girl’s curls. Reyyan felt the joy expand in her chest as they all cuddled in bed, Günes cradled between them. Miran gave his wife a sly glance that said “ _Just wait! We’ll finish what we started.”_

She knew they would. There would always be tomorrow’s shower. Laying there with her husband and daughter, Reyyan knew there was nothing more important that could tear her away, and no memory strong enough to force her to look away from the future.


End file.
